


Talking... Is That What We're Doing

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Get Together, M/M, PTSD, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Barnes is back. Tony dosen't know what to do.Everything can be solved by a good conversation.(They're also soulmates)





	Talking... Is That What We're Doing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uponthesun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uponthesun/gifts).



Tony Stark.

Why was that name so clear?

Everything else in the head was surrounded by a cloud of confusion, of memories that he had been robbed of. But Tony Stark, that name, stood out like a lightbulb in a pitch dark room. It was the sharp edge of a knife, and the only solid memory he remembered having.

There was something to this name.  
Something to this man.

Who was Tony Stark?

Who was he? His brain was fuzzy. Winter Soldier.

No.

Bucky Barnes?

Still no.

He had the vaguest of memories of his old life - mostly flashes of smiles and laughter. Steve - the man from the bridge - smaller and scrawnier. He’d protected him. He’d loved people, and had been a whole person.

He wasn’t a person anymore.

He was a shell.

A shell that had murdered hundreds of people. Sure, it had been for HYDRA, but based on the law enforcement authorities that had been chasing him for months now, he knew that he’d be held responsible.

He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He didn’t kill, not if he didn’t have to. He was just trying to survive, fill the empty gaps in his brain, and find out why the hell this name, this Tony Stark, kept popping up in the forefront of his head.

He’d learned within only a few days of being on the run that he was the son of Howard Stark. Bucky had known Howard Stark. The Winter Soldier, he’d killed Howard Stark. He’d been strangled to death in a car on the side of the road.

And Barnes could not erase the name, or the face, of Howard’s son from his brain. It was as if it were seared in there - unable to be erased, even though the brainwashing. He didn’t know, he hadn’t really been in control, but the name Tony Stark had been burned into his brain for a while.

Long before he fell off that train, and long after.

But why? Stark was all over the media, his money, and his super suits saving millions of lives from around the world. He worked with Stevie - the man from the bridge - Captain America, and a bunch of other people.

Why was it Stark in his brain and not Steve? The man whose face was ultimately brought him back to his senses. He’d left HYDRA because of this man - who’d not only brought the whole organization from crashing down but pulled Barnes out of the catatonic, malleable state HYDRA kept him in.

Yet, he could not get the doe-brown eyes of Tony Stark out of his head.

And, honestly, he didn’t want to. Stark made him feel human. Barnes almost stopped breathing when he saw Tony in person, just strolling down a street in Manhattan, a ginger-haired woman on his arm.

They were both laughing. They were both happy, and human happiness was one of the best things to witness. Barnes found himself smiling for the first time in.

God. Years?

Decades?

The laugh was warm, and it was rich, and it was just enough to dust off the soul that Barnes had hidden somewhere deep in his chest. It was enough to wake him up, help shake out the cobwebs in his brain and realize exactly how miserable he was.

Stark changed him.

And they hadn’t even spoken.

Barnes had been living on the outskirts for so long. He remembered the days, 70 odd years ago, where he had been happy. He started to remember what it had felt like to laugh or to come home to the familiar smell of his apartment.

Barnes started to feel again.

HYDRA had erased that capability for so long, all that he knew was a constant was pain. The pain of brainwashing and the numb, dull pain of being frozen, time after time.

He felt happy again, if only for brief seconds. He had glimpses at a happy life. He also had glimpses of fear, and far too long of a look into exactly what guilt felt like.

He’d killed Tony’s father.

He’d killed hundreds of people, all for a twisted, demented mission. He had killed people because his handlers enjoyed watching because they didn’t like how a country was being run. They had used their power over humanity to create fear and loss and death.

Being an integral, even if unwilling, partner in that hurt more than anything they had put him through. It hurt, too much. He wished he could beat the feeling down, and overcome aching nausea in his entire torso.

He wanted it to end. He wanted to stop feeling, even if it meant clawing at his chests during the nights he laid on hard concrete, stomach growling, unable to collapse into a stupor. It was always at night that the guilt came, he was too busy trying to survive the day. But as he lay there, trying to be quiet, he wanted to throw up.

The faces of everyone he’d killed flitted across his eyelids when he closed them. Hundreds of people in their last pleading seconds before he killed them.

He didn’t sleep anymore.

He didn’t have time. Too little running meant that someone was going to catch up with him. But, these days, running on empty with little food and no money, and no name, he didn’t see why that would be a big deal anymore.

In jail, they would have to feed and clothe and house him.

And if they shot him on sight? Well. There were advantages to that too. All those families of all those people and the relief that they would feel?

He couldn’t keep running.

But he couldn't’ stop. HYDRA and other governments were hunting him to use him. They wanted him back because it would be all too easy to just manipulate him into being their assassin. A good one, too.

He needed to surrender. He couldn’t keep going like this, even with his super body. It was impossible to hide for more than a few months in a city. His face was plastered around the world, and everyone was looking for him.

Including Tony. And Steve. They were out looking for him, and reports of their presented followed Bucky across the globe. To them, he would surrender. He was willing to let them find him, only because they would do what was right.

They had brought down HYDRA, and it was high time they took care of its final remaining asset.

He stayed a few too many days long in Prague. One broken down apartment, and a few too many hints as to his location. Stark had the best technology, he was always the hottest on Barnes’ heels.

Steve found him, disassembling a handgun. He was broken, his voice shattering when he saw his best friend sitting at the table, neatly wiping down the barrel of a pistol.

“Bucky.” He set his own weapon down on the table and raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s -”

“Steve.”

“You know who I am?”

The memories flitted to the surface, slowly. “Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to put newspapers in your shoes.”

 

 

This was too easy. Steve had just waltzed into that apartment, saw him, and invited him back to the compound. It was a promised: safe place to recover. But surely, nobody actually wanted him there.

He was still being hunted by at least 20 other countries, not to mention the American Government. He’d killed people. He deserved some kind of recompense, not an invite to live in a million dollar room, designed by New York’s finest interior designers.

He wasn’t really going to say anything. The whole ride back to New York he sat in silence while Steve and Sam participated in some hushed discussions in the plane’s cockpit. Barnes just let himself rest on the seat back, enjoying the feeling of comfort.  
“He’s not going to be the same Bucky, Steve. It’s impossible for him after what he has been through - you need to understand he’s not just going to snap out of it.”

Their conversation was anything but hushed to Barnes' super hearing.

“He’s Bucky. My best friend.”

“Not anymore. Now, from what I can guess, he probably doesn’t even feel that he deserves to be human after what he did. Which can happen to people with mild trauma, let alone after years of brainwashing. He was stolen from himself.” Sam was loud.

“I know he’ll be different, but he would do the same for me. He needs this.”

“Tony is going to kill you.”

And there went all of Barnes hope. Stark didn’t want him. Sam was on the fence, reasonably concerned about inviting a mass murderer into his home. What about the others? They couldn’t be very happy about welcoming a HYDRA agent into their midst.

Why had he done this.

Why had he assumed that by finding Steve and asking for help everything would be fine. Steve was bull-headed and did things without proper thought, Bucky remembered that well enough. Promising to house a deadly criminal because he used to be a friend was just in is avenue of stupid shit.

Not everyone was that stupid.

Stark wasn’t that stupid. He was wary, and he was reserved. But Barnes could feel the rage behind every gesture. The man that had murdered his parents was here, standing in his house, asking for sanctuary.

Barnes didn’t have a clue why he gave it.

Or why he didn’t want to peel himself away from Stark to go with Steve. “A shower will do you good,” was what Steve had said. “You can use mine.”

“Use your shower.”

Steve took him by the arm. “Everyone will get over you being here. When I talked with all of them they said this would be the best place, they just don’t like it. It makes them uncomfortable, but they’ll get used to it. You’ll get used to it.”

Steve was gentle with him. He set up a bed on the floor so Barnes never had to sleep alone, he made sure that nothing around him could even potentially set him off. They sat for hours talking, helping Barnes to recover, and remember what his family and his friends had looked like.

It was weeks that they hung out together, Steve and sometimes Sam, guiding him through what this new world looked like. They helped him through the nightmares and the sleep deprivation, and there was always food around.

Still, through all of it, Barnes could not stop thinking of Tony. The brief times he saw him made his whole week. It was a pleasure to see Tony’s presence in the kitchen in the mornings. He did not like when he skittered away.

It hurt his heart more than the nightmares ever had. He’d come to the tower to see why he was so tied to Tony, yet he couldn’t get more than three words to the man before he was gone.

God, seeing Tony high tail it away from him scared the shit out of him. Would he always have this longing? And the pain of seeing him walk away felt like he was being shot in the chest. And he would be the first authority to know what that felt like.

He asked Steve why, exactly.

Steve’s eyes got really wide, and he didn’t answer. Neither did Sam, or Clint. Natasha, the one who was always oversharing, was the one he should have gone to first.

“He’s your soulmate.”

“Soulmate?” he’d heard about it, in human conversations he’d eavesdropped in on. They always talked about theirs happily, like it was the best thing on human earth to find yours.

He’d just assumed he was dead.

“Yeah, the whole, fate determines who you love bullshit. It’s more common now than in the 30’s, but people believe in it. Makes them happy. Sometimes there’s a mark to tell you, sometimes there isn’t, it just depends on the genetics of the people, if they match up in the right way or not. I’ve never really paid attention.”

“Do you have one?”

“Clint. But we’re just better off friends. With the kind of bond you have, you probably had a mark. Probably on your arm.”

He tried to remember, back when he had a real arm. It was hard, the hardest memory he’d ever had to try and scrape from his brain. But he saw it, briefly. “There was. I don’t know what it is, it’s like chipping at a wall, but it was on my arm.”

“Congratulations. Fate has designated you to fall forever in love with Tony Stark. Good luck!”

“Considering he won’t even talk to me, I’m not having the best.”

“Sorry. Fate sucks sometimes.”

 

  
Natasha must have talked to him because before he knew it Stark was handing him a beer at movie night. He was staying in the room when Barnes came in, and he stopped him before Barnes could leave to get some sleep.

“Your arm.”

“What about it?”

“Does it work correctly?”

“Sometimes. Depends on the weather.”

“I could.” He wrung his hands together. “I could look at it. Tomorrow? Come down whenever.”

He was gone.

But it was a victory. Barnes’ stomach swoops, and he could have screamed. His body was thrumming with the victory, and whatever part of his body that was tied to Tony was doing a dance.

He didn’t sleep all night.

He brought Tony a cup of coffee the next morning. Cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. He wanted to make a good impression. This was the only chance he would ever get.

“Morning,” Barnes said, sliding the cup of coffee next to where Tony was working.

He jumped back, the stool he was on rocking back and forth. “Jesus,” he gasped, “Warn a guy next time.”

Barnes grabbed his shoulders, helping him to steady himself. He tried not to act hurt when Tony shrugged his hands off.

“Let's work on your arm.” Tony pointed to the only empty surface in the lab. “Over there, grab a stool.”

Barnes did a minuscule victory dance when he saw Tony sip at the mug of coffee that he had left behind. It was small, but it was a victory.

“How much will this hurt?” Tony asked, splaying open a portfolio of micro-tools. “Do you know?”

“Not that bad. You get used to the pain."

Stark nodded. "I know." he winced. "Nevermind."

“I’ve heard about how you became Iron Man. And everything in the interim, you owe me no explanations.” Steve had practiced it with him, in the event that Tony actually talked to him.

Stark pulled hard at one of the plates on his arm, and he swore.

“That what I get for being considerate?”

Stark grimaced. It was close to a smile, and Barnes’ stomach jumped. “Sorry. It was stuck on.”

He pulled again and Barnes bit down so hard his teeth clacked together. “You got anything in here I can bite down on?”

“Yeah,” Stark handed him a strip of leather. “So you can shut up.”

“Ha ha.”

Stark’s face contorted into something that could be a smile. “How did HYDRA let this go?”

“I would guess a couple years if it was frozen. They updated it every time I woke up.”

“So you were actually cryogenically frozen?” His curiosity was taking over. “Cool. I’ve been trying to figure that out for years. What did it feel like?”

“So cold it hurt.” Now Barnes was the one that was gruff. “It sucked.”

Stark laughed. “Yeah, I bet.”

“We’ve both had our shit, haven’t we?”

“Everyone in this tower has,” Stark said.

“You’re not wrong.” And god it was nice to sit this close to Stark, feel his fingers fully working and pulling at the limited sensory nerves in his hand. “And, Stark, I get why you’re scared of me. I did some shit and I can’t ever be sorry enough. I can’t ever apologize enough.”

It was Stark’s turn to jerk away, pulling another panel with it. “Don’t mention it.”

“Your parents?”

“Don’t ever talk about them. I’ve dealt with it, okay? It wasn’t you, so don’t talk about it like it was. It was HYDRA. HYDRA fucked us over.”

“They sure did, didn’t they?”

It was silent for the next few hours, only a few muttered words, as Stark worked his way up Barnes' arm, cleaning and replacing frayed wires. They were just above the elbow when Stark leaned back into his chair.

They got the hand done that morning. Stark had something with his company at one o'clock and had to leave to get ready. It was too early. They had been making progress. Sure, Stark was doing everything in his power to avoid touching or talking to Barnes more than ever.

It was two weeks before they started on the next segment of Barnes’ arm. The longest two weeks of Barnes’ life. Stark wasn’t even in the tower, he was in China for an R&D presentation.

They didn’t talk as they worked on Barnes’ forearm when Stark got back. Mutterings about the condition of his arm, muttering about how shitty HYDRA tech was. But there was no conversation.

Before they left Stark touched his arm, and guided him out of the lab. “Have a good night. Tell the team I’ve got work to do. Can’t make it to team dinner.”

Barnes' brain was melting from the contact. Stark had only ever touched his arm. He could feel Stark’s handprint burning on his arm all night.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, waving his hand in front of his face, at the dinner table. “You spaced out on us man, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Stark, the swooping feeling in his gut, and how much progress they were making.

He didn’t sleep again.

  
“I need a break.”

“I need a drink.”

“Beer?” Tony asked. “And JARVIS, order us a pizza. Whatever Barnes liked.”

“One Large Sausage and Mushroom is pending arrival, sir.”

“Thanks,” he handed a bottle to Barnes.

“Can I ask a question?” he asked after he’d drained about half of his beer.

“No.” But Stark’s eyes were glittering like he was going to smile.

“Why did you avoid me?”

The glitter left his eyes. Something deeper and darker settled into them, and he stopped looking at Barnes. “You remind me of what I lost.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? It was my shit to deal with, and I did, after Natasha and Steve all nagged me to stop being an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole, and you don’t have to suffer through things alone.” Barnes was speaking with conviction. “ I would still be starving and sleep deprived, and on the run through fifteen different countries without Steve. Suffering needs to be shared, there is no way we can handle our shit alone.”

He didn’t realize how hard he was squeezing the bottle until it shattered in his hands. Both Barnes and Stark jumped back from the table, chests heaving, eyes wide as they looked up at each other.

“It’s okay,” Barnes said first, taking a deep breath. “Everything is fine - I just broke a bottle.”

Stark handed him an oil soaked cloth. “Here, wash up with this.”

Barnes wiped his hands, then started on the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you - or waste a good bottle of beer.”

Stark managed a small smirk. “It’s fine. There’s a spot next to your chair.” He took the rag from Barnes. “I got it.”

“No-” but Barnes was cut off as Stark bent over to mop up the spot on the floor. And holy shit, this was some new way to see him, because Barnes suddenly couldn’t breathe for an entirely different reason.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. The feeling, that low thrumming through his whole body, and the settling in his gut was new. Totally new. But he knew exactly what it was.

He shifted the zipper on his jeans.

“Got it.” Stark stood up.

Barnes cleared his throat. “Good. Very good.”

“You’re right. About the needing help thing. You’re the first person to tell me it’s ok to not be able to handle my shit.”

“I speak from experience. Can I get another beer if I promise not to break it?”

“Yeah, it’s the mini-fridge under my desk.”

“Thanks,” Barnes wandered over to the desk, pulling another cold bottle out of the door of the fridge. His eyes caught on something on the desk, a printed out armor design. Only it wasn’t for any of the Avengers.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding it up. “Is this for me?”

“It was just an idea.” Stark was always so quick to dissolve the situation. “I thought that, maybe, if we got you out there saving the world your public image would improve. And, the American Government said that they’d drop all charges if you joined the team. The final proof that you’re on our side, I guess.”

“I’m on nobody’s side.”

“It’s just an idea.”

“I need another year. It’s just, too soon. It’ll just bring back too much of my shit.”

“Time to recover. I get it, most days it’s hard for me to climb into my own suit.” He snapped his jaw shut, surprised that he’d said so much. “Sorry.”

“Never be sorry for being honest.” Barnes handed the design back. They were standing close. Too close, but Stark wasn’t backing away. Neither was moving, both of them just staring at the piece of paper between them.

“Maybe we can work together to fix that problem,” Stark said. “Help each other handle our shit.”

“That would be nice Stark.” He smirked. “You know, I’ve always wanted to talk with you. Like this. Man to man.”

“I’ve.” He paused. “I’ve wanted to talk, too, for a while. I think I was just holding myself back from… talking.”

“There’s a lot of things that got in between us talking.”

“Well. Here we are, talking. I’m over most of the obstacles, they weren’t our fault. Not all of them, anyway.”

“I don’t want to stop talking to you.”

“We’re not talking about talking, are we?” Stark asked, and laughed at the absurdity. “There’s something between us, isn’t there?”

“You were the only thing I could hold on to when I was lost to myself,” Barnes admitted, in a whisper. He’d been saying it in his dreams, and in his head for so long. “Even before we… talked.”

“There was always something about you, Barnes. It was hard to avoid you.”

“I guess Natasha was right,” Barnes said. “Soulmates?”

“That’s what this feels like?”

“Can we stop talking?” Barnes asked, and he stepped directly into Tony’s space. He expected him to flinch away, to step back. It had taken so long, what felt like forever, to even get Tony to touch him, or talk to him.

Kissing him was something else.

Everyone said that kissing your soulmate felt like fireworks. For Barnes, it felt like it was coming home, and he was coming into himself. Kissing Tony Stark made Barnes feel more human than he’d ever felt in his entire life.

“Wow.”

And Tony Stark laughed. He actually laughed, his eyes lit up, and his mouth opened. Tony Stark, even in that brief moment, was happy.

That made Barnes world.

Tony Stark made Barnes world.

 

 


End file.
